


Drabbles: general fiction (LOTR 2004)

by claudia603



Category: Lord of the Rings (2001 2002 2003)
Genre: Angst, Drabble Collection, Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-25
Updated: 2010-04-25
Packaged: 2017-10-09 03:38:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/82608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claudia603/pseuds/claudia603
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of drabbles written in 2004. General fiction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drabbles: general fiction (LOTR 2004)

Frodo's heart could not possibly soar any higher as he gazed around the room. It must be a dream - the crisp bed sheets, his clean nightshirt, and most of all, Gandalf. To have opened his eyes to find him – that had been worth every throb, every ache, and every nightmare.

Aragorn stepped forward. "Come, we must leave him to rest."

He tucked the blankets up to Frodo's chin and rested his hand on his brow. "My friend," he said with utmost tenderness. "Thank you for coming back to us."

* * *

A gaping, hollow nothingness ached in his chest. The ghost of Frodo's arms haunted his neck, as did the touch of lips on his ear as comforting words had been whispered. His words had not comforted, and only his last smile had broken his grieved fog.

"You cannot always be torn in two," Frodo had whispered, but he had been wrong.

Sam was not torn in two, but simply torn.

* * *

Frodo held his head and groaned. He buried his face in the pillow. There could be no crueler fate than climbing from under his blankets into the chilly morning.

"No time for that, sir," Sam said. "Strider wants us up so we can sneak out of Bree."

"It's dark. And my head hurts dreadfully." Frodo managed a rueful smile. "I must have knocked my head when I fell off the table."

"More than likely it was the ale, Mr. Frodo. It's stronger here than back home in the Shire."

Like other things. Frodo fingered the gold band in his pocket.

* * *

 

Blue skies and sultry heat, rare for spring in Minas Tirith, Faramir contends. Frodo laughs, and for that brief moment, his old self shines through, and it brings me right back to Bag End, in that time after the daffodils first bloom.

He would stretch, and then he would take a sniff at the air, closing his eyes to fully take it in.

His eyes cloud with pain, and I wonder if he's just seen what I've been fretting about -- that sometimes it's better to stay in the darkness than to feel so briefly what can never again be.

* * *

Waves chugged against the ship, blocking out the cry of seagulls. Each chug drummed it deeper into Elrond's mind -- home…home…home.

He looked toward the West, into a deepening gloom. Will she be there, he wondered. How will it be?

He sensed before he saw the Ringbearer, pale and sober, slip beside him.

"It still seems like a bit of a dream. Only…I cannot seem to fathom when I fell asleep."

"The sea can affect your senses thus. Do you feel pain still?"

Frodo touched his tender shoulder. "Not like before." He smiled, and this time his smile reached his eyes.

The clouds shifted, and a star shed faint silvery light to the western sky.

* * *

Frodo knelt in the warm sand, turning over a translucent pink shell in his hands.

"Now see here, Mr. Frodo," Sam said. "We can't be taking back any shells to Bag End. That's nothing that really shows where we've been."

Frodo woke to find warm cloth on his head and worrisome background whispers.

"We don't have a chance to save him." Aragorn's voice, low and dangerous. "He is lost to us. See how he shivers."

And Gandalf's voice, brusque and warm and most importantly, alive, "We must not lose him now, not while hope still lives in his song."

* * *

Frodo pitched forward, his already bruised and battered ribs impacting hard with the boulder strewn ground and driving out what little breath his gasping lungs contained.

"Frodo!" Aragorn's hoarse voice echoed through the hills just outside Moria as he ran to the hobbit, who now clutched his ribs and writhed on the ground. The others stopped, staring in helpless terror. The sun was almost down, and soon these woods would be swarming with orcs. Aragorn knelt down beside Frodo and spoke in a soft voice, "I shall lift you. Hold on." Aragorn's arms were strong and gentle, but pain ripped through Frodo and he was unable to bite back a cry.

"Hold on," Aragorn said again. "I shall take you somewhere safe."

* * *


End file.
